


Roses Are Yellow...

by Lucky7



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen, Language of Flowers, Past Relationship(s), Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky7/pseuds/Lucky7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The woman had intrigued him from the first time they had met and every encounter made him that much more aware of her. But for the second time that day, he feels his heart ache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses Are Yellow...

"Well, hello…what a pleasant surprise! What brings you to this area?"

She seemed genuinely pleased to see him, this woman he had been following on and off for weeks. Her smile was infectious and his responding grin automatic, though he felt a twinge of guilt knowing that this was not the "accidental' meeting she thought it was. A very small twinge, but still…

He'd been tracking her all morning, enjoying the task as always. And what was not to enjoy? It certainly wasn't a chore to follow an attractive woman down a sunny street in New York City on a beautiful fall day. She was easy to tail, her long hair shining like a beacon in front of him, sunlight gleaming off highlights, swaying back and forth in rhythm to her stride. He hadn't fallen back very far, confident she was totally unaware of his presence. Despite all the people-watching she did, she never looked behind her.

The woman was definitely way too trusting. Or naïve.

"I don't live too far from here" he lied easily, rattling off the name of an apartment building not two streets over. "And I see you found Annie's Flower Shop…" He pointed to the large bundle of yellow roses cradled in her arms.

"Oh, yes. Aren't they lovely?" she replied, bringing the golden blossoms up to inhale their fragrance.

"Very pretty."

She laughed. "Answered like a typical man. A woman would have remarked on their color, freshness, length of stem..." Her eyes sparkled at him.

He was struck again, as he had been the very first time he met her, by her lack of pretension, the ingenuousness. Not too many people interacted with him that way, and over the years he had finally figured out why: it was the atavistic impulse to run from perceived danger. But she had never reacted that way to him…and had in fact, allowed him into her condo at their very first meeting after he'd simply asked if she needed help with the stack of magazines left on her front step.

Definitely too trusting. Of course she also had no idea who he really was, given that he'd introduced himself using an alias and worked very hard at projecting a "nice guy" image.

"And isn't that what the fairer sex is for…to fill in for our deficiencies?" he responded, falling in step with her and shortening his stride to match hers. "So…have you been to this café before…?"

Of course she had. He had known where she was going…this small side-walk coffee shop not more than a couple of blocks from her home. He knew she came here often; had followed her enough to know all her favorite haunts. But the lies came as easy as slipping into his operative mode. He needed to be here, needed to get closer to her today. And that meant turning on the charm full bore.

"Oh, yes! Their coffee is heaven. And the scones…? Incredible!"

"Well then, how about I treat you to coffee and one of those incredible scones?"

She smiled, nodding her consent as she shifted the flowers to her opposite arm, allowing him to guide her to one of the sidewalk bistro tables. He was very conscious of her presence, the implied intimacy of his hand on her back. The woman had intrigued him from the first time they had met and every encounter made him that much more aware of her.

"Here...let me take care of those," he offered, placing the flowers on an empty chair. "The 'pretty' flowers…"

She responded on cue, laughing. "Yes, the vivid gold, remarkably fresh, and surprisingly long stemmed…pretty….flowers!"

He grinned. "Well, it's been a long time since I've had anything to do with flowers. Most of the ones I do see are usually on top of a casket…"

She was immediately contrite, reaching out to touch the top of his hand. "I'm sorry. I was teasing…but I forgot that as a detective you're far more likely to see the ugliness of death than the beauty of flowers."

If you only knew, he thought. But he smiled his reassurance and turned his hand over to give hers a slight squeeze. Only to soothe her of course. All part of the job. Surely. "It's fine. I don't know much about flowers, but I do know the difference between roses and the ones used on a casket. I like these much better."

She stroked the wrapping on the bouquet next to her, as though assuring herself that the blossoms were comfortable. "Did you know that the color of a rose symbolizes something? Red roses mean passion. Pink indicates gratitude. And yellow roses represent true and undying love..."

"No, but I like to learn something new every day..!" he responded with a smile.

The waiter brought their order and conversation flowed naturally between them, and like a calm, smooth river, her voice lapped at his consciousness as he allowed himself to soak in the warmth of her company.

"The flowers are my private celebration." she was saying, voice animated with enthusiasm. "I just landed another job this morning. So I suppose I should have chosen pink roses since I'm very grateful for that... But frankly, the yellow ones were much…prettier!"

He chuckled at her gently teasing. "Didn't you already have a job?"

"Well, yes. But I'm a private contractor, so when one job is finished I have to find another."

"Sounds like a stressful way to make a living."

"I suppose so…but I really love what I'm doing. And so far I've not only been able to support myself, but actually put away some money for that rainy day." This last was pronounced with pride.

He watched her eyes gleam as she explained in more detail her new found assignment. fairly bubbling with joy, her whole being radiating her happiness. He had read once about psychics who claimed to be able to read a person's emotions, their "aura". Not that he believed in that claptrap, but going along with that fantasy he would expect her aura to be a golden glow. Sprinkled with the glitter.

Ha! And she thought I could only come up with 'pretty'…! This time he didn't smile, as somewhere in the region of his heart he felt an ache.

They finished the coffee and scones while he gently probed for details of her life. She willingly told all: the lovely home she had, the friendly neighbors, her last project, her new project. And she probably would have given him far more intimate details had he asked, but his conscious wouldn't allow him to go down that road.

Time to wrap this up. As pleasant as this was, he couldn't afford to get more involved, and however attracted he was, she was not for him. Ever. He glanced at his watch, and infused just the right amount of regret into his voice.

"I've really enjoyed this but I need to get back to work before they send out the dogs looking for me…!"

He stood up, held her chair as she too rose from the table, gathering her flowers and fussing with the wrapping around the stems while he pulled several bills from his pocket and placed them on the waiter's mini tray. Winding their way through the maze of bistro tables, they made their way back to the main sidewalk.

Gently taking the hand she held out to him, he was careful to make the contact impartial and neutral. 

"Thank you for the coffee…and the 'incredible' scones!" she said, "Next time it's my treat."

"That's a deal."

And with a last wave of the hand he turned away and strode opposite to the direction he knew she would take. Away from a temptation that he didn't quite understand and shouldn't even be contemplating.

 

\----------------------------------

The pub was cool, the dark paneling and minimal lighting lending a forced intimacy to an otherwise shabby interior. The lunch crowd worker bees had already departed to their various hives for the afternoon work shift; the happy hour crowd still not released from their labors. The place was deserted except for a disinterested bartender...and a lone occupant of a small table near a grimy window.

Reese made his way to that window table and slid into a chair. His table companion had his eyes focused on the beer mug he was holding and didn't look up or acknowledge another presence. The ex-op remained silent, waiting for the other man to speak, ask questions…anything. Anything but sit there and turn that mug around and around on its coaster.

But it wasn't happening. He finally cleared his throat and proceeded with his report.

"She's fine. The job came through yesterday…just like you ordered. She's very pleased to get it. Seems certain she'll make enough on that project to even put some money into savings."

The hands on the mug stilled, as his employer's sad blue eyes found his.

"Is she happy?"

"Yes."

And for the second time that day, Reese felt his heart ache.

 

END

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Now, if you rather read this fic in Present Tense....(updated 2015)

 I find it somehow gives a different "feel" to the story. ^_^

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

“Well, hello…what a pleasant surprise! What brings you to this area?”

She seems genuinely pleased to see him, this woman he's been following on and off for weeks. Her smile is infectious and his responding grin automatic, though he feels a twinge of guilt knowing that this is not the “accidental’ meeting she thinks it is. A very small twinge, but still…

He's been trailing her all morning, enjoying the task as always. And what's not to enjoy? It certainly isn’t a chore to follow a beautiful woman down a sunny street in New York City on a beautiful fall day!

“I don’t live too far from here” he lies easily, rattling off the name of an apartment building not two streets over. “And I see you found Annie’s Flower Shop…” he adds, pointing to the large bundle of yellow roses cradled in her arms.

“Oh, yes. Aren’t they lovely?” she replies, bringing the golden blossoms up to inhale their fragrance.

“Very pretty.”

She laughs. “Answered like a typical man. A woman would have remarked on their color, freshness, length of stem...” Her eyes sparkle at him.

He is struck again - as he’s been since the very first time he met her - by her lack of pretension, her ingenuousness. Not too many people interact with him that way, and over the years he’s finally figured out why: it’s an atavistic impulse to run from a perceived danger.

But she’s never reacted that way to him…never in the several times they’ve met face to face. Of course she also has no idea who he really is, given that he’s introduced himself using an alias and works very hard at projecting a benign “nice guy” image.

Even without the distinctive bunch of flowers, she'd been easy to tail, her long hair shining like a beacon in front of him, sunlight gleaming off highlights, swaying back and forth in rhythm to her stride. He hadn’t fallen back very far, confident she was totally unaware of his presence. Despite all the people-watching she did, she never looked behind her.

The woman is definitely way too trusting. Or naïve.

“And isn’t that what the fairer sex is for…to fill in for our deficiencies?” he responds, falling in step with her and shortening his stride to match hers. “So…have you been to this café before…?”

Of course she has. he knew where she was going…this small side-walk coffee shop not more than a couple of blocks from her home. He also knew she came here often; had followed her enough times to know all her favorite haunts.

But the lies come as easy as slipping into his operative mode. He needs to be here, needs to get close to her today. And that means turning on the charm full bore.

“Oh, yes! Their coffee is heaven. And the scones…? Incredible!”

“Well then, how about I treat you to coffee and one of those incredible scones?”

She smiles, nodding her consent as she shifts the flowers to her opposite arm, allowing him to guide her to one of the sidewalk bistro tables. He’s very conscious of her presence, the implied intimacy of his hand on her back. The woman has intrigued him from the first time they had met and every encounter makes him that much more aware of her.

“Here...let me take care of those,” he offers, placing the flowers on an empty chair. “The ’pretty’ flowers…”

Laughing, she responds on cue. “Yes, the vivid gold, remarkably fresh, and surprisingly long stemmed…pretty….flowers!”

"Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve had anything to do with flowers. Most of the ones I do see are usually on top of a casket…”

She’s immediately contrite, reaching out to touch the top of his hand. “I’m sorry. I was teasing…but I forgot that as a detective you’re far more likely to see the ugliness of death than the beauty of flowers.”

If you only knew, he thinks. But he smiles his reassurance and turns his hand over to give hers a slight squeeze. Only to soothe her of course. Just part of the job. Surely.

“It’s fine. I don’t know much about flowers, but I do know the difference between roses and the ones used on a casket. I like these much better.”

She strokes the wrapping on the bouquet next to her as though assuring herself that the blossoms are comfortable. "Did you know that the color of a rose symbolizes something? Red roses mean passion. Pink indicates gratitude. And yellow roses represent true and undying love...”

“No...but I try to learn something new every day,” he responds with a smile.

The waiter brings their order and conversation flows naturally between them, her voice a calm, smooth river lapping at his consciousness as he allows himself to soak in the warmth of her company.

“The flowers are my private celebration.” she's saying, voice animated with enthusiasm. “I just landed another job this morning. So I suppose I should have chosen pink roses since I'm very grateful for that. But frankly, the yellow ones were much…prettier!"

He chuckles at her gently teasing. “Didn’t you already have a job?”

“Well, yes. But I’m a private contractor, so when one job is finished I have to find another.”

“Sounds like a stressful way to make a living.”

“I suppose so…but I really love what I’m doing. And so far I’ve not only been able to support myself, but actually put away some money for that rainy day.” This last is pronounced with pride and he watches her eyes gleam as she explains in detail her new found assignment, fairly bubbling with joy, her whole being radiating her happiness.

He had read once about psychics who claimed to be able to read a person’s emotions, their “aura”. Not that he believes in that claptrap, but going along with that fantasy he would expect her aura to be a golden glow. Sprinkled with the glitter… Ha! And she thought I could only come up with ‘pretty’…! This time he hides his smile, as somewhere in the region of his heart he feels an ache.

They finish the coffee and scones as he gently probes for details of her life. She willingly tells all: the lovely home she has, the friendly neighbors, her last project, her new project. And she probably would have given him far more intimate details had he asked, but his conscious won’t allow him to go down the road that far.

Time to wrap this up. As pleasant as this is, he can’t afford to get more involved.  However attracted he is, she is not for him. Ever! He glances at his watch, and infuses just the right amount of regret into his voice. “I’ve really enjoyed this but I need to get back to work before they send out the dogs looking for me…!”

Standing, he holds her chair as she too rises from the table, gathering her flowers and fussing with the wrapping around the stems, while he pulls several bills from his pocket and places them on the waiter’s mini tray. Winding their way through the maze of bistro tables, they make their way back to the main sidewalk.

Gently taking the hand she holds out to him, he’s careful to make the contact impartial and neutral. 

“Thank you for the coffee…and the ‘incredible’ scones!” she says, “Next time it’s my treat.”

“That’s a deal.”

And with a last wave of the hand he turns away and strides opposite to the direction he knows she will take. Away from a temptation that he doesn’t quite understand and shouldn’t even be contemplating.

********************

The pub is cool, the dark paneling and minimal lighting lending a forced intimacy to an otherwise shabby interior. The lunch crowd worker bees have already departed to their various hives for the afternoon work shift; the happy hour crowd still not released from their labors. The place is deserted except for a disinterested bartender …and a lone occupant of a small table near the grimy window.

Reese makes his way to the window table and slides into a chair. His table companion only has eyes for his beer mug and doesn’t look up or acknowledge another presence. The ex-op remains silent, waiting for the other man to speak, ask questions…anything.

Anything but sit there and turn that mug around and around on its coaster! But it isn’t happening. He finally clears his throat and proceeds with his report.

“She’s fine. The job came through yesterday…just like you ordered. She’s very pleased to get it. Seems certain she’ll make enough on that project to even put some money into savings.”

The hands on the mug still, as his employers sad blue eyes find his.

“Is she happy?”

“Yes.”

And for the second time that day, Reese feels his heart ache.

 


End file.
